Murder by the Book

"Of course he will. Now about Walter Finch. I've got him, and he's in his room at the South Seas. He's a little taller than average, and you'd probably guess him at thirty-five. He has a bony face, and bony hands with long fingers, and dark brown eyes that you might call black. He looks straight at you when he talks, and his voice is a medium baritone, you'd like it. Do you want to write that down?"

"I don't need to."

"Sure you've got it?"

"Yes."

"I believe you. I'll be in my room at the Riviera all day. Call me any time if anything happens."

"All right, I will."

There's a loyal little woman with twinkles, I thought, hanging up. She knows damn well she's married to a dumbbell, but by gum she'll never say so. I phoned down for breakfast and newspapers, washed and brushed my teeth, and ate in

my pajamas. Then I called the South Seas Hotel and asked for Walter Finch. He was there in his room, 1216, and said he was getting along fine with his homework. I told him to stay put until further notice.

When I had showered and shaved and dressed, and finished with the newspapers and looked out at the rain some, I phoned down for magazines. I refused to let myself start listening for the phone to ring because it might be all day and night and into another day before there was a peep, and it wouldn't help to wear my nerves out. However, I did look at my watch fairly often, translating it into New York time, as I gave the magazines a play. Eleven-fifty meant two-fifty. Twelve-twenty-five meant three-twenty-five. Four minutes after one meant four minutes after four. One-forty-five meant a quarter to five, nearing the end of the office day. I tossed a magazine aside and went to a window to admire the rain again, then called room service and ordered lunch.

I was chewing a bite of albacore steak when the phone rang. To show how composed I was, I finished chewing and swallowing before I picked it up. It was Mrs. Potter.

"Mr. Goodwin! I just had a phone call! From Mr. Corri-gan!"

I was glad I had finished swallowing. "Fine! What did he say?"

"He wanted to know all about Mr. Finch. I said just what you told me to." She was talking too fast, but I didn't interrupt. "He asked where the manuscript is, and I told him Mr. Finch has it. He asked if I had seen it or read it, and I said no. He told me not to sign any paper or agree to anything until he has seen me. He's taking a plane in New York and he'll get to Los Angeles at eight in the morning and he's coming right here to see me."